Invincible
by tastewithouttalent
Summary: "Even in the dark, Kageyama can see the red of tears at Hinata's eyes." Loss is easier to bear together. Part 5 and final of Teamwork series. Sequel to Gold.


Even in the dark, Kageyama can see the red of tears at Hinata's eyes.

He's not trying to look for the evidence. He knows its there, the same as he can feel his own face hot and swollen, the bitterness of their loss still so tender in his chest that he can barely stand to think about it. Better to exist in the quiet of this moment, the dark of the evening shadowing his vision so he doesn't have to think about the past, or the future, or anything except for the occasional hiccups of fading sobs in Hinata's throat and forging the hurt of failure into the determination of success.

It's the longest they've ever spent in silence. Hinata isn't looking at Kageyama - his head is tipped up a little too high, he's leading with his chin like he's grasping at the height he doesn't have, and if Kageyama is sneaking glances at him it's not to see the shake of pain at his mouth or the bruised-red swelling at his eyes. It's because Hinata looks like he knows where he's going, is glaring his way into the future with all his enthusiasm turned into determination, and Kageyama can tell where to go from following his gaze.

It's a strange feeling, to not be the one doing the leading. It makes Kageyama feel reckless, like he's stepping forward with his eyes shut and no idea of what is in front of him. But there's a thrill under that too, a rush of adrenaline he can't deny, and it doesn't help the weight in his chest but at least it's something different to feel other than miserable.

Hinata's the one who draws to a stop at the point where Kageyama usually breaks off to go to his own home. He's still not looking at the taller boy; his mouth is still set into a frown, his lips still trembling with emotion, and Kageyama can't read the flurry of emotion behind his eyes except to see the size of the feeling.

He can understand that without being told.

"I want to go to nationals," Hinata says, his voice clear in the night air. He's speaking too loudly, his voice catching faint echoes off the buildings around them, but this is the second time Kageyama has heard that catch of almost-rage mostly-misery in his throat, and he doesn't even attempt to form condolences. He doesn't have any to offer, anyway; the echo of Hinata's voice feels like it's speaking for him as well, the volume loud as if the two of them were shouting together. Hinata's fingers are curling in against his palms, the edge of his nails pressing against the skin; staring at them Kageyama realizes his own hands are aching from the fists he's been making for the past several minutes.

"I want to go to nationals," Hinata says again, his voice breaking. Kageyama blinks, the burn at his eyes overflowing across his cheeks and his features twisting into pain in the shadows at Hinata's back. The redhead turns, twists on his heel, and he's crying too, his cheeks are wet and he's making no attempt to swipe the tears away. "Don't _you_?"

It could sound like aggression. It comes out like a plea, desperate on his tongue and ringing in Kageyama's ears. Kageyama chokes a breath, scrapes enough air into his lungs to speak, forces out a "_Yeah_" that sounds furious with impotent want.

For a minute they just stand there. The force of Hinata's chin tilt has come down, tucking the gulping sobs at his lips in against his chest. Kageyama's fingers are aching from the tension of his fists, the pain a counterpoint to the vocal anguish in Hinata's breathing. It takes a conscious effort to loosen his grip, to let his fingers go slack so he can reach out for Hinata's hand. The other's fist doesn't ease - if anything it cinches tighter under Kageyama's touch - but the contact does what the tears didn't and loosens some of the agonizing knot tight in Kageyama's chest.

He's still crying. So is Hinata. He doesn't think either of them will stop anytime soon. But he can breathe, now, and as he sustains his hold the tension in Hinata's fingers gives way. The other boy takes a choking inhale, reaches up to drag his free hand across his damp cheeks, and turns his hand, slotting in fingers in together with Kageyama's.

It's not the win they wanted. But it is still a victory, and even if it's a small one, Kageyama suspects this one will gain weight as their loss fades into the foundation of success.

As long as they're together, they can do anything.


End file.
